Upside Down and Inside Out
by Hikuya
Summary: Time Travel? Yes. Mary Sues? Hopefully not. What changes must be made when three very different people are thrown into a very different life and left with no way out?
1. Chapter 1

Author: So, this will be my first Newsies fanfic. Hopefully not the last one. I have other story plots and characters, but I need to get this one off the ground first. Please enjoy.

Disclaimer: I own nothing! Nothing I say!

Chapter One: Never Trust An Unmarked Book

I've always known I was a little…different? Different will work for now. I didn't have the greatest family, but they weren't terrible, you know? We were always just busy. Too busy for each other. I mean, mom had all her volunteer things to help with, dad was always on call for the hospital, and Angela, my sister, was busy with school work, her social life, all her activities, and on and on. I guess I'm the only one in the family that never loaded up with work. Is it wrong to want to have fun?

So, like I said, I was different. Not strange, necessarily, but different. And my family didn't exactly like different. It was always "Katlynn, don't you have something better to do?" or "Katlynn, if you just applied yourself more." It just went on like that forever. Does it really surprise anyone that I got tired of it? I suppose I started hanging out with the "wrong" people just to spite my family. It seems so stupid to me now.

Then again, now I'm not the same person I was. Nor am I anywhere near my blood relatives. That's not to say I don't have a family anymore. I have one. It just consists of a lot of brothers. And by a lot, I mean a lot. They're all good guys, and they mean the world to me now. Back then, however, all I wanted was to go home. But, I'm getting ahead of myself. Maybe I ought to explain how this ball got rolling.

I had just turned fourteen. By this time, I could smoke, drink, gamble, and swear just as well as any of the high school and college kids I hung out with. Not only that, but I was quite the accomplished thief. I could shoplift anything, pick pocket anyone, and break into any house or car, I was that good with lock picks. That's how I got my nickname, though. Every one of my, er, acquaintances, all called me Pick. Locked your car keys in your car? Pick's the one to call. Can't get into your locker? Pick'll get it open for you. I made good money that way.

So, I wasn't exactly a "good" kid. I wasn't anywhere close to one, actually. The funny thing about me being so rebellious? I did it to show off to my family, try and get them to care a little, y'know? They didn't even notice. That just led me to be even more stupid. It was a vicious cycle. The one thing I refused to do, ever, was skip school. I may not have acted like it, but I loved learning new stuff, even if I was no good at it, like English class. So, I was a delinquent with all As and a perfect attendance record. Crazy world, huh?

One day, I was headed to the library. I needed to return some books and get some new ones. I dropped my old books into the drop box and proceeded to the very back corner of the stacks of books. This corner was where all the sci fi and fantasy books met up with the nonfiction history books. Not to mention that there were a couple of very comfy chairs in a small open spot that very few people knew about.

I was there that fateful day, minding my own business. I padded silently through the shelves, picking out a book here and there, sometimes putting it back, other times not. I had about four books when I came across a misshelved book. Now, if there is one thing I hate, it's when people don't have the decency to put things back where they got them from. So, I grabbed the book off the shelf, and took a look at the call number. Only thing was that there wasn't one.

I shrugged, not thinking too much of it. The people who did call numbers probably just forgot this one. It had happened before. I took a look at the cover, to try and figure out where to put it. It was titled "Famous American Strikes", but the author was nowhere to be found, or the publisher, or anything else about the damn thing. Frustrated to no end, I almost just took the book up to the front desk and let them handle it.

For some reason, I couldn't. I just got this feeling that if I let go of the book, I'd miss something. Something important. In the end, I took it, and my other four books, to one of the chairs in my corner. Settling down, I cracked open the mystery book and began to read. I don't think I've ever been more fascinated by a nonfiction book in my whole life. The descriptions of these strikes weren't just dates and riots. It was about the people, their lives, their reasons, their relationships. It didn't just give you dry facts, it gave you a story.

Before I knew it, I was halfway through the book and the library was going to close in five minutes. I'd been there for over five hours. Standing, I realized I couldn't just walk out with the unmarked book. And that thought depressed me. Gazing at the rough, black cover, I figured it couldn't hurt to skim over the next strike. Just to take one last look.

I got as far as "The Newsboy Strike of 1899", when the lights went out. Cursing under my breath, I waited for my eyes to adjust, so I could get the hell out of the dark stacks. I shut the black covered book, and started towards the front. I was a few rows from the entrance, when I noticed that I was casting a shadow. Looking around, I couldn't find anything that would have been casting light. Until I looked at the mystery book.

In between the pages, there was light. The book was glowing! I dropped it like it was on fire, and it landed, opening on a page. At that point I didn't know which one it was, but I do now. All I remember was the light. After that, nothing. Until I finally woke up somewhere very far away from Seattle, Washington.

Author: Yes, I know the Newsies aren't actually in this one yet! They'll be there in the next chapter, I swear on my Newsies DVD. So, if you want that to happen, you will all be absolutely wonderful people and REVIEW. Because you love me so. Right? Right. Hug!


	2. Chapter 2

Author: So, here is chapter two. Aren't I amazing? Yes I am. So, I'm sorry, there are no Newsies in this chapter like I promised. I have failed you! However, they shall come, never fear. I need to do one more opener type thingy, then you shall have Newsies. By the way, thanks to Sam, whoever or wherever you are, for being the first reviewer! I've never gotten a review first day before, and I am deeply touched.

Disclaimer: Oh, that I were talented enough to be able to lay claim to that most wonderful creation, Newsies. I shall go wallow in misery at the knowledge that they shall never be mine.

Chapter Two: Does Anyone Else Sense A Pattern?

I've tried all my life to be accepted. To fit in, to match, to conform. I was always the sweet girl who loved everyone. Helped anyone. And I hate that. Everyone at school was always asking to copy my work, and I let them. Someone asked me to lend them some money, I said sure, even though they never pay me back. I always stayed after to help the teachers if they asked me. It never stopped! And not once, not one fucking time, has someone offered to do the same for me.

That's not to say it's all an act. I am nice. I like helping people. Hard work doesn't bother me. But if there is one thing I can't stand, it's freeloaders. The people who think the world owes them for simply being there. What a joke. I guess that's how my parent's were, though.

Dad was addicted to gambling and spent most of his time at the casinos. He won sometimes, but lost more often. Mom set up a special bank account for him. She made all the money, working three different jobs. Like I said, she set up a special account for his gambling, put a certain amount in it a month, then the rest of it goes into her account, where he can't touch it. Mom was real smart like that. She's also had a college fund going for me. She was always going on about how proud she was of my grades, how I'd get into a good university for sure.

But, that was then, and this is now. Now, I can be as mean as I want to be, and it feels GREAT. I'll never forget the first time I told someone to shove it. It had to have been the best day of my life. Of course, I never would have had the guts to do something like that on my own. I owe all of the strength I have now to the people that took me in and cared for me like I was always one of their own. I suppose I ought to tell you how I got to be this way, how I started on this road.

My birthday was close. Three more months, and I'd be fifteen years old. Not that I really cared. All that meant was that I was one year closer to leaving home and getting shipped off to who knows where for college. I couldn't shake the feeling of utter despair at the thought. I mean, I did want a higher education, but I didn't want to leave Mama all alone, with no one but daddy.

I went to school that day, dressed in the proper uniform. I tugged at the plaid skirt subconsciously. I had long legs, but no curves. At all. Well, that's an exaggeration. I have some, they're just modest. But, anyway, I hated wearing the uniform, since I basically looked like a guy in the girl's outfit. I'm skinny as a twig, and have the same coloration. That's how the boys gave me my name, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

Anyway, I was at school. And, god, was I tired. I had just stayed up until four that morning finishing a project, since no one else in my group bothered to do any of their assigned tasks. After only three hours of sleep, I was a little short on patience. So, when I opened my locker and a book fell on my head, I was just about ready to jump the nearest passersby and pound them within an inch of their life.

I didn't even bother looking at the offending book. I just scooped it up and shoved back into the locker, then went about my merry way. It wasn't until lunchtime that I was really awake and I reopened my locker to get my peanut butter(crunchy, mind you) and pickle sandwich. I did a double take at the offending tome currently squishing my beloved food, and tugged it out. Tucking it under my arm, I grabbed my lunch, shut my locker with a clang, and strode towards the school library.

I was certain that someone put that book in my locker just to annoy me, but right as I reached the double doors of the Media Center, I decided to look at the book.

It had a black cover, and stamped on the front were the words "Famous American Strikes". There was nothing else. No author, no check out slip, nothing. There was no way such a shabby looking book belonged to the school library. Shrugging, I decided to use it as a solid eating surface. Making my way out to the courtyard, I realized that I was one of the few people who dared brave the overcast sky and cold autumn winds.

Settling down in my usual spot, on a rock underneath one of the many trees, proceeded to devour my lunch with great gusto. I finished in no time flat, having a gigantic appetite and a speedy metabolic system. Tossing my paper bag and garbage into a nearby garbage can, I checked my watch and realized that I had a good half an hour before class started.

I didn't want to go back inside and be constantly pestered by others wanting to take advantage of my kindness. Instead, I chose to flip through the odd book that had come into my possession. Cracking it open, I began reading through the introduction.

When the bell signaling the end of lunch rang, I jerked my head up, totally surprised. Reluctantly, I rose from my perch, reading as I walked along. The book was that good! I couldn't set it down for the life of me. You couldn't have paid me enough money to give up reading that book.

That last half of the school day was torture. I kept looking at the clock, desperate for the day to end, so that I could go back to that wonderful book resting in my messenger bag. Finally, after what seemed like years, the school day ended.

I was gone in a flash. I tore down the stairs, racing towards my locker as fast as I could without running. I grabbed what I needed and discarded what I didn't, and left the grounds in a rush, hoping to get ASAP, so that I could continue reading.

When I got back to the small apartment, I went to my room and sat on my bed, not bothering to change before reopening the black covered book. The rest of the evening is still a bit of a blur. All I remember is dinner, and a need to go back to that book. When I was finally excused, I couldn't wait to get my hand on it again. I had managed to get as far as my room, when the storm I didn't know was there, knocked out the lights.

I was alone as far as I could tell, and there shouldn't have been any light. But there was. Stumbling towards my bed, I picked up the odd book. Light shone from around the edges, and the lettering shimmered strangely in the gloom.

A loud crack of thunder startled me, and the book fell from my grasp, falling open, blinding me. The next thing I remember was opening my eyes and hearing the sound of someone crying.

Groaning, I shifted, trying to find the source of the noise. I saw a girl, finally, who looked about my age, if I were to guess. I almost went over to her, to comfort her, but then I got the feeling that something wasn't right. Standing, I couldn't help but notice that the noise of cars was missing, but the sound of huge crowds remained.

Stepping towards the opening of the alley, I stood, utterly shocked. I wasn't sure were I was, but I knew that I was no longer in my beloved Chicago.

Author: This has to be record for me. Two chapters in just a few hours! I win! And you know what this means? It means I shall beg you for reviews! Please? Because you love me so? If you review, I shall be more motivated! And then I shall eventually get through these first person openers and on to what you all want. That's right, NEWSIES! So, review, and I will respond! Love!


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